


Speak Softly and Carry a Big...Stick

by Copper_mouth



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Bottom Tony Stark, Coming Untouched, Cunnilingus, Disabled Character, Dom Natasha Romanov, Everybody Lives, F/M, Face-Sitting, Female Ejaculation, Femdom, Getting Together, Light Dom/sub, Love Confessions, Orgasm Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Prosthesis, Restraints, Strap-Ons, Sub Tony Stark, Subspace, Top Natasha Romanov, Under-negotiated Kink, Vaginal Sex, difficulty orgasming due to health issues, natasha vs the soul stone, these two are both kind of emotionally constipated but they do get there in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:15:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22212403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Copper_mouth/pseuds/Copper_mouth
Summary: When something good is placed in her hands, Natasha wants to take. And Tony, well. Tony wants to give.
Relationships: Natasha Romanov/Tony Stark
Comments: 21
Kudos: 121
Collections: Smut





	1. 2009

**Author's Note:**

> ♪Cleaning out my drafts and it feels so good♪
> 
> What's the plot of this you say? Why, I've never heard of such a thing! And I'm not interested in making the acquaintance either. Allow me to interest you in 90% porn/10% feelings Ironwidow schmoop instead.

He watched her warily as she made her way closer, eyes lifting to follow hers as she stepped up beside him and looked down. A beat, then two, and he shifted in his seat. 

She allowed her lips to twitch into the ghost of a smile, then made her move, trained muscles moving faster than his eyes could hope to follow. 

Tony gasped as she dug her fingers into his hair and pulled his head back, hard. He stared at her for a moment, mouth falling open in shock, then all of the tension bled out of his body at once. He groaned as he closed his eyes, sinking into the hold, and she tightened her grip in reward. 

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, then a pink tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Natalie,” he said, throat raspy and hoarse already. 

She snarled and pressed closer, setting one of her heels digging into his thigh as she leaned over him. He had no way of knowing the source of her displeasure, but he didn’t protest, only twitched his hand like he wanted to wrap it around her ankle, but he subsided without moving it too far. Good boy. 

“Call me Nat,” she said, shifting her foot until the toe of her shoe was pressing into the vee of his crotch, the soft flesh underneath hardening rapidly. “Or address me properly.” 

He gasped again, predictably, but stayed meek and pliant beneath her. He was a fast learner, she had to give him that. 

“Yes – yes ma’am. _Nat.”_ Huge brown eyes hooked her gaze; they were blown wide with desire, and trust. 

There was a moment, a yawning, terrible instant, where she lost control over herself and only existed, floating in the emotions buffeting her from all sides, threatening to overwhelm her. It ended quickly, as it always did. 

“What do you want?” she asked softly, letting her voice sweeten around the molten steel underpinning it, always a striking counterpart, she knew, to the unyielding strength she’d immobilized him with. 

Those ridiculously long lashes brushed his cheekbones as he blinked at her, an expression more earnest than anything she had seen yet from Tony Stark blossoming across his face. 

“Anything,” he said. “Anything _you_ want.” 

She held him in her gaze, still, her prey – caught, earned, absolute. She smiled. 

“Good answer,” she replied, then she lifted her skirt. 

Tony groaned as she climbed up his chest, pressing him down against the back of the couch. She kept his hair clasped in her hand, permitting no slack as she guided him in between her legs. 

She paused to admire her work, Tony’s nose scant inches away from her damp skin, and he looked up at her, waiting. 

“What I want,” she told him. “Is beard burn between my thighs.” 

He shuddered. “Can I touch?” he rasped. “My hands – can I touch you?” 

Natasha considered for a moment, letting the question hang in the air on the same thread that held her poised above him. 

“No,” she said. 

His answering moan was swallowed up into her as she finally sank down. Tony eagerly applied his considerable experience to pleasing her, licking and sucking and drinking her down like she was the last oasis in the desert, the sweetest taste even a libertine like him had ever known. 

She kept him at it for a good long while. Every time she came, she thought about letting him stop, but then her eyes would fall on his hands lying meek and still against the fabric of the couch, and the fire banked higher inside of her again and she wanted more. 

By the time he actually made her squirt, right into his open mouth like a sinner receiving his sacrament, she figured she’d better let him go before the undoubtable twinge in his jaw moved closer to unbearable. 

Tony opened his eyes as she eased off of him, and she could swear she could see disappointment lurking there. Idiot man, she thought, ignoring the fondness that laced through her. He never did have an ounce of self-preservation. 

He watched her in a daze as she straightened her skirt and toed her shoes back on from where they had fallen ages ago. There was an obscene wet spot on the front of his trousers where he had been leaking, and she knew he had to be positively aching with the need for release. 

“Clean yourself up,” she said. His eyes snapped up to hers from where they had been lingering around the level of her breasts. It was amusing that her return to unflappably professional surprised him. 

“You shouldn’t stay up any longer tonight,” she continued. “You have an 8:00 meeting you can’t afford to miss.” 

Natasha waited until her meaning became clear to him and watched the agony and ecstasy wage war with the dawning realization on his face. 

She turned on her heel. “Goodnight, Mr. Stark.” Her shoes clicked satisfyingly on the floor as she walked. 

Behind her, Tony sighed and pushed himself to his feet, heading towards his bedroom. She wasn’t sure if she was meant to hear him murmur, “Goodnight…Nat,” as he went, so she said nothing in acknowledgement as she left. 


	2. 2012

He’s kneeling in front her, hands pushed up under her dress and kneading desperately at her stockinged legs – naughty boy, he hadn’t asked for permission – and he’s moaning almost continuously around the meat of her breast he has clenched in his mouth. 

She’s petting his hair, holding him close and hardly daring to believe this is allowed to happen again, after SHIELD, after Loki, after _everything_ – and because she knows how to multitask she’s also bending over him and slicing through his suit and pants with her favorite knife like butter. 

His fingers find the top of her panties and curl into them, trying to pull them down, and finally she pulls away from him and swats at his hands. 

“Not yet,” she says, and undresses herself. Tony stares at her cunt as she steps out of her shoes and pulls off her hose. 

He only lifts his eyes as she walks up to him, naked now, and pushes the rest of his ruined clothing off of his shoulders to slide onto the floor. 

Natasha takes Tony’s chin in her hand. His lashes flutter as she thumbs his lips, and he swallows hard. 

“I’m going to fuck you,” she says, and is gratified when his eyes fly open to find hers. The expression on his face is hopeful, then disbelievingly glad as he understands. 

She chooses not to contemplate why she had put her strap in her bag this morning before she made her way over to the Tower. She just likes to be prepared for any circumstance, that’s all. Understandable in her line of work. 

“On the bed,” she says, sliding her thumb out from where it had slipped in between the wet part of his lips. “On your stomach, hands behind your back.” 

It occurs to her that she’s forgetting something as she kneels over him, packet of lube tossed carelessly onto the small of his back and her hands cinching his patent leather belt tight around his. 

She’s acting like an untried adolescent, she thinks with an internal sigh – headstrong and barreling straight towards the prize without stopping to consider everything she needs to think about. This man…he must be infecting her with his reckless ways. She knows better than this. 

Natasha pulls his hair up until their eyes meet in the mirror conveniently hanging at the head of the bed. Warmth unfurls beneath her breastbone as his gaze, glassy and slipping under already, meets hers. 

“Your safeword,” she says, “Is “stop”. Understood? If you reach your limit you tell me to stop and I will. We’ll figure something else out. Tony – I need you to acknowledge me.” 

He licks his lips slowly, then the old, familiar half-smile of wry self-deprecation flitters across his face. “Tell you to stop if it’s too much. I got it, Nat,” he says. 

She’s almost so distracted by that old nickname she hasn’t heard from his mouth in years – he always calls her Agent Romanoff, lately – that she doesn’t read the implication clear on his face that he doesn’t care about a safeword at all and would let her do whatever she wanted to him, regardless if he wanted it or not. Almost. 

Pursing her lips, she shoves his head back down onto the bed. Alright. If he’s not going to prioritize his safety, she will have to do so. It will be just like old times. 

He moans as she squeezes the lube out to slide down the center of his crack, pooling around his entrance before dripping farther below. She catches it before it falls on the bed, scoops it up with her blunt nails and decides she’s also not going to think about how she had carefully removed her acrylic tips last night while planning for today, and she pushes it into his body. 

She works him open for a long time, until his ass is as much of a mess as the puddle of precome soaking the bed and the tears combining with spit as he grips the sheets between his teeth. She wipes the mess on her fingers onto his thigh as she props his hips up and glides her strap between his cheeks, sparing a moment to imagine pushing it past his lips and sending him choking around her in his throat. Maybe next time, for that. 

Pausing with the tip teasing only a scant distance inside of him, she takes the time to graciously inform him that he can come from her dick while he ruts against the bed, or not at all. 

He screams when she finally pushes in, and she wonders whether it’s underestimation or overestimation that leads her to be surprised that he comes as soon as she’s fully sheathed inside. 

“Well then,” she says. 

Tony’s shivering, shaking against the bed beneath her, and she watches him to see if she can detect any shame there from how long he lasted. Not that it matters either way. 

She licks a long stripe up the center of his back, letting her nipples brush tantalizing against his skin, and ends the tease by sinking her teeth into the gratifying line of his neck. 

Tony groans, and she can tell he’s clenching up around her strap from the way the harness moves against her clit. She hums appreciatively and gives his jawline a little kitten lick. 

“You’re not done yet,” she says, the words forming themselves into a question without her consent. Just as she thought, though, Tony’s lips stretch into a satisfied grin. 

“More, Nat. I want more. _Please,”_ he answers her, and he tilts his hips up invitingly as the rest of him goes boneless against the sheets. 

She gives him what he asked her for. 

If there’s one thing she prides herself on, it’s her stamina. She fucks him for close to an hour, long past the point where he’s incoherent from the pleasure, mouth hanging open and eyes surely seeing nothing as he floats, a slave to the sensation of her moving inside of him and claiming that space. Long enough she’s not sure if he even remembers his name, and Tony Stark is gone, reduced to a vessel for the white-hot flames she stokes with every snap of her hips. Long enough to overcome his age and anatomy, and for him to come sobbing and thrashing again. 

She’s had more than enough to satisfy herself at that point, so she stops now that he’s reached completion a second time. The years are softening her – she doesn’t know if she has ever been this generous with a lover she didn’t plan on assassinating later. 

Natasha cleans him up, arranging him onto fresh sheets and rubbing the circulation back into the calloused skin of his hands. Those eyes – wide and dark and watching her every move – there is some manipulative power there even she could learn from, she thinks. Under their spell, she kisses the pads of his fingertips and tucks them in close under the blankets she pulls up, then lifts his head with her hand for him to drink the glass of water she brought him before he goes to sleep. 

She’s shifting to stand up when a warm hand wraps around her arm, then darts away in swift apology when she glances at it. Her gaze lifts to meet Tony’s, and those eyes arrest her again. Thrice-damned, beautiful man. 

“Will you stay?” he asks her, voice barely above a whisper after enduring the pleasure she put him through. “Please.” 

For a moment, she stills as if contemplating her answer, though in truth there was never anything else she was planning to do. 

She nods and curls up beside him, a tentative smile offered up beneath tear-clumped lashes her reward, cutting through her chest like a knife before it’s hidden away again. This man is going to ruin her. 

She lets him hold her arm around him as he settles in, and she lays her head against the back of his, watching the red strands of her hair shifting against his dark ones as they breathe. 

And she sleeps. 

⁂ 

Tony wakes up surprisingly quickly for a relative civilian, blinking once, then twice, before casting his arm across the bed in search of her. 

She clears her throat before any unnecessary emotions set in, and he relaxes when he sees her perched on the chaise lounge on the other side of the room. 

“Good morning,” she says. 

Any thoughts she may have of a peaceful start to the day fly out of her head as Tony throws himself back onto the bed and laughs, long and loud, at the ceiling. It is not a sound that stems from feeling amused or delighted. Alarmed, she stands up and begins to make her way over to him. 

“This was a mistake,” she clearly hears him say, though he mutters it to himself underneath the arm thrown over his face. 

Everything grows cold inside of her. “What was a mistake?” she asks carefully. She knows, _she knows,_ she didn’t hurt him last night, so he could only be talking about them, together. Or maybe just her. She was always good at being somebody’s mistake. 

But Tony takes his arm off his face and sits up, and he looks at her with bright, clear, aching eyes and he tells her, “All of it. You can laugh, if you want. I would if I were you. But, truth is…I’m falling for you. I know you don’t want me like that, I know, alright? Just figured I’d go ahead and make an embarrassment out of myself now rather than later.” 

He hangs his head when he’s done, running his hands over themselves as he waits for her reprisal, tensing up as she steps closer and tilts his chin in her hand. 

Natasha kisses him. 

Tony gasps into her mouth immediately, opening sweetly for her as she maps out his goatee with her fingers. She smooths her hands down his neck, across his shoulders, can’t help but allow them to slide back up to tangle into his hair as he sucks on her tongue and moans. 

It takes herculean effort for her to pull away from his mouth, every inch of her screaming to dive back in, to sink and plunder and have and _take,_ but she has to tell him first. He needs to be able to understand. 

She doesn’t quite know how to say it, though. She’s never been in this situation before, she’s never felt like this in her life. 

In the end she swallows and says, roughly, haltingly, no trace of the calm and collected operative that she is, “You’re not alone in this.” 

Then there’s that smile, that brilliant, thousand-watt smile that’s haunted her dreams for longer than she cares to admit, and he gets it. He understands. Tony – he knows her. 

He opens his arms so she can fall in, and she realizes. She’s safe. She’s home. 


	3. 2023

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Natasha looks at the Soul Stone and says, bitch you thought. Or, even sentient space rocks defer to her power of will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A change of pace, in that this one is 90% feelings/10% porn, a reverse of the first two chapters. And I'm officially done with this specific 'verse. Hope you enjoy!

The silk tie winding around his wrists is enough to hold him, flesh and prosthetic alike. The shiny crimson metal of his new arm is strong enough to lift thousands of pounds, and even the arm that’s all him, that he’s had his whole life, even that is probably strong enough to tear loose from the bindings, muscles still trained hard and knowing even under the aging olive skin. But the cream and gold ties she fastens around him now are enough to keep him in place against her, because he programmed the arm along with the rest of his mind and body, and he will never break what she chooses to create. 

That, she learned years ago. 

She caresses the scarred side of his face and he sighs, turning and nosing into her hand, then he opens his eyes and the look in them shakes her to her core, the way it always has, since long before she was able to admit it to herself even. 

Her knees shift to clamp tighter against his sides as she rocks upwards and back down, his cock hot and hard where it strains into her, where she swallows him whole. 

He won’t come from this, she knows. Not yet. It’s a miracle of Dr. Cho’s cradle and her own persistence that they’ve come far enough since the battle to coax an erection out of Tony that lasts longer than a few minutes. They’ll keep recovering though, keep building back his strength, and even if his body never fully regains the function it had before, she will claim and keep what parts of him he’s still able to give her. No matter what he may have feared, he still belongs to her, in every way. She promised him that. She promised herself that, allowed herself that relief of a gift when she first held him in her arms after they came back, scarred and hurting and diminished but still _alive,_ together, and whole. 

They shouldn’t still be here, Natasha knows. By all the rights of the universe, both of their times had already come. But Tony offered himself up instead when he snapped his fingers, heart crying out for her, a sacrifice the Soul Stone was incapable of disregarding. 

A soul for a soul. And so his had gone hurtling inwards as she was lifted out, and he caught her eyes as they passed, and the relieved smile, that gentle goodbye, that filled his face was the sweetest pain she’d ever known. 

Little did the Soul Stone know that Tony belonged to _her,_ however, and she wasn’t one to give up her rightful due that easily. Tony turned wondering eyes towards her as Natasha grabbed him by the hand and pulled him in to her instead, letting the Stone see from the matching lights burning within them the claim she had over him, and his absolute agreeance of who exactly he belonged to, body and soul. 

And it let them go. 

They marched out of that place hand in hand, until she jumped on the back of his armored shoulders and whooped with joy, and he laughed and spun her around with the arm that still worked until the last bit of adrenaline wore off and his knees hit the ground. 

Then came the long months of rest and healing and _joy,_ and she kissed the scarred remnants of his burned arm before it was removed, and she kissed the warm red metal one that replaced it, as it turned and moved against her with all the grace inherited from its creator, titanium fingers reaching up to brush the tears off of her face. 

And now, they had come so far as to be _here,_ entwined together again and comforting each other with the familiar press of their bodies, skin held tight against skin until they could feel the blood still singing hot through the other’s veins. Even if Tony can’t enjoy their time the same way that he used to, he still loves it, still craves submitting to her and the calming guidance of her hand as she takes over control for a little while and lets him rest under her care. 

He’s doing well though in keeping up with her today, she muses as she bites up from his chest to his throat, then takes his lips from where they had been panting a cloud onto the surface of his right arm. Maybe next time he wants to try to come, she’ll slide one of his own personally designed vibrators inside of him as she rides him again. If anything will do the trick, that ought to. 

For now, it’s enough that Natasha shudders on top of him, enough that he’s here to witness and aid in her pleasure, enjoying it vicariously enough that he throws his head back and cries out in sympathy when she comes. 

She stays sprawled out on top of him for a long time, letting him hold her up even as he drifts contentedly so far down, and she runs her hands over and over his skin and she kisses him and she never wants to stop. 

Eventually she’ll untie him and draw him up, take him to the shower and suck the water off of his skin, then they’ll fall together in a tangle of limbs into their bed and sleep will come, gently as it always does now. 

But for this moment she needs to hold him, feel his lashes fluttering against her cheek and his body shifting beneath her, needs to stay in this place where she holds the reins and he glories in his surrender, safe and content within her claim. So she wraps herself around him and he smiles and they stay there together, and they rest for a little while. 

**Author's Note:**

> Join me in pro-shipping, multi-shipping, Tony Stark stan hell on [tumblr.](https://copper-mouth.tumblr.com/)


End file.
